


Five Things That Never Happened: #1 (Chechin Island)

by baranduin



Series: No Night Is Too Long [20]
Category: No Night is Too Long (2002)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A what if.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things That Never Happened: #1 (Chechin Island)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the fanfic100 community challenge #096--Writer's Choice.

I was stunned by it. At first I couldn't believe it had happened, that I had struck back and somehow had hurt Ivo badly. You see, I'd been so angry, so very angry, and before I knew it, I was hitting back at him and then he tripped and fell and hit his head against the tree. It all happened so quickly it was almost like looking at a blur, like a speeded-up film.

I thought he was dead for a minute. Really, I did, and to my everlasting shame for a moment such a wave of joy and relief washed over me that I almost fell down. I flushed hot from this morbid exhilaration, but then of course it passed as quickly as it had come, leaving nothing in its place but the cold and the wind and Ivo lying there so helpless on the thin crust of soil. I think it was really the first time I'd seen him that helpless, utterly defenseless. Even after he'd told me he loved me (and thus I stopped loving him, if I had ever loved him at all and not just been fascinated by him), he had not been helpless or powerless, never that. Not even the day before when he'd pleaded for me to have pity on him and not leave him.

But now, he was lying there unconscious or, worse, dead. Somehow it seemed appropriate to me, that he might be dead. For a moment, it seemed the most convenient of all possible outcomes though I cringe to use the word now. After all, everything he'd meant to me had been dead for months, and the coming of Isabel into my life had obliterated all traces of any feeling I'd had left for him, that is, any positive feelings. (Is lust a positive feeling? Somehow I doubt it, as attractive an idea as it is.)

When I stumbled over to where he lay and dropped to my knees, careless of the hard rock beneath the fragile layer of dirt, a quick shudder of pain ricocheted through me. If the unforgiving hardness of the island's surface had hurt me, and me being in relative control of my movements and the force with which I'd dropped down, how much must it have hurt Ivo? But then, perhaps not! Perhaps he'd already been rendered unconscious by my blow and so had not suffered any further pain as he'd fallen back against the tree and onto the ground.

I really did think all that, I'm not lying. It's funny how much can go through your head in such a short time, especially when what has happened is so serious. It seems to me that, when something terrible happens, either your mind expands so that you can capture every tiny thought and observation and sensation that you can then pore over later when the moment has passed, or it shrinks and you remember nothing. As you can see, for me it was the former.

And those weren't the only things I noticed, for once I came nearer to Ivo, I saw something else, not that I would have needed to be physically so close. But I saw that I had indeed drawn blood. There was a trickle of bright red blood where his head had met the tree trunk.

He was so still that I was sure he was dead. Absolutely sure. I stared at him for seemingly forever and he didn't move in all that time, he didn't appear to be breathing. He just lay there; his face began to look like one of those carved stone effigies you see in churches, hard and remote and yet so terribly pure. Well, except for the blood which continued to flow and began to drip from his head onto the ground. I became quite fascinated with the fact that it continued to flow freely even though I was sure he was dead. I suppose that should have been a hint. Even now, I can hear the ghost of Ivo's voice stinging me, waspish in my ear: "Wasn't that a gentle hint to you that I wasn't a corpse? Too scientific for you, I suppose."

I'm not sure if I would have left him for dead. I did get up to do something or go somewhere, I cannot deny that, but I think I was just responding to my body's frantic need to move. I don't really think I would have left him, surely I was not that low a creature. But the plain truth is that I stood up and started to walk away. I think the shock had dissipated a bit, and then I was suddenly aware that I needed to get back to the beach, surely to call for help. I can't really remember if much of anything was going through my mind at that point. My hyper-acute sense of recall and observation deserted me at the crucial moment. Be that as it may, I stood up and walked away from Ivo. I think I took perhaps six or seven steps before I stopped again.

"Going somewhere?"

Do you know the phrase about jumping out of your skin? I nearly did, certainly all the hairs on the back of my neck stood up instantly while I ran back to him and then stood over him as he lay there, staring at me. I couldn't bear to look into his eyes for long, there was so much hurt in them and I'd caused all of it, both physical and emotional.

"Ivo! Are you alright?" Inadequate, I know, but I had to say something, didn't I, and wasn't that the natural thing to say in such a situation?

He groaned and sat up in one rearing, jolting movement, drawing up his knees and curving over them, anchoring himself to his own body with his arms. After a minute, he said in almost a whisper, very harshly, "What do you think? Do you think you'd be _alright_ – stupid expression, just like you – if _I'd_ tried to kill _you_?" Then he retched; he tried to control it with a hard swallow but he couldn't. Who could have after having suffered such a blow? He took a few deep breaths, jerkily at first and then more evenly, regaining control of himself.

I knelt down and put my hand on his shoulder. He tilted his head a fraction of an inch, enough to be able to look at me, and I knew then that he was remembering that night on the ship, when it had been his actions that had bloodied me. There was such a look of shame mixed in with the hurt and anger. We never spoke of it, but I know it was there. Perhaps it was that memory which made him retch.

* * *

"You're right," Ivo said as we were putting away our life-jackets once we'd returned to the Favonia. Though the others cried out in alarm at the sight of Ivo's appearance, he made light of it. I'm not sure if everyone believed him, that he'd tripped and fallen against some rocks, but his explanation was accepted outwardly by all.

"What?" I was rather surprised he was talking to me. I'd suspected that we'd be in a not-talking phase for at least a few hours. I was already thinking of how I'd better wedge the chair beneath the door knob when I went to my room.

"It's no good between us, it's sick," Ivo said and there were tears in his eyes. "You're free."

He was right. I'd known it for much longer than he had, and I should have been glad and relieved and so many things. But that was when I began to love him.


End file.
